


acid rain

by lethandralis



Series: abandoned works in progress [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Drug Use, M/M, Mutual Pining, NSFW, and also it's hancock so what do you expect, drug use in a canon typical way, there is some sex stuff at the end. not much of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:24:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethandralis/pseuds/lethandralis
Summary: angel is two hundred or so years old, exhausted, and so fucking alone. (or maybe not.)





	acid rain

When he leaves the Vault, it is bone-chillingly cold.

It is October in Massachusetts, except it isn’t, now it’s October in the Commonwealth, and everything in sight sits heavy and rusting and dead. When he enlisted and they told him about China’s nuclear capabilities, he knew in cold scientific terms what the bombs would mean to life on Earth. But he didn’t know, not like this. He should never have known like this.

The first winter is rough. He knuckles down on repairing the houses in Sanctuary Hills, hoping that in the repetitive work he might find some comfort. When the time comes to start work on the house he and Nora bought, though, he clams up. Boards up the doors and windows. Behind the house, he digs a grave for his wife, saving the funeral for the day he’s ready to carry her down the hill.

* * *

Boston, he must admit, was not always the most upstanding place, even in its prime.

After the bombs, though, it is unimaginably worse. He’d never much known of mayors who stab their residents to death in open courtyards, but here he was. John Hancock, mayor of Goodneighbor, gravelly-voiced, commanding, and always armed. He's got an air about him that makes Angel want to shut up and pay attention, which is rare and confusing. It takes several weeks of hanging around Goodneighbor, doing odd jobs and hiring a sharpshooter with painfully bad teeth before he gets Mayor Hancock to talk.

Angel is promptly sent off on a fool’s errand. Investigate the Pickman Gallery.

He has a feeling that Hancock agrees to travel with him only out of pity for what he’s seen in that hellhole.

* * *

It is spring, now, if one can even say that the Wasteland has spring. Angel continues his anxious habit of building in the slow parts of the search for his son. Sanctuary Hills is a fully wired, well-defended settlement now, with a surplus of both food and water. There are no good places to live in the Commonwealth, but this place is okay.

He builds himself a bedroom in the house two doors down from the one where he lived. He buries his wife. There is no fanfare.

He finds Hancock slinking along with him more often, now. Hancock tends to come and go as he pleases, sometimes leaving for weeks at a time on “Mayoral business”, sometimes content to wander the quiet wastes surrounding Sanctuary for days on end. He is, however, a good gun to have at one’s back; smart in a fight, comfortable with a range of weapons, and always carrying a frankly distressing amount of chems.

Angel hadn’t much been into chems before the bombs, but now it seems easier to lean back in his favorite armchair and let reality fade away for a little while.

He’s spaced out on a cocktail of God-knows-what the first time Hancock kisses him.

He doesn’t remember it clearly, afterwards, but Hancock is apparently enough inside of his own head when it happens to tell Angel about it two days later, as they’re clearing out an abandoned hospital of super mutants.

“Hey, so, uh, about a couple days ago,” he starts, rummaging through an overturned desk. “Sorry. I wasn’t all the way right. You want me to cut it out, you say so, okay? You set the pace.”

Angel shoots him a confused look. “Hancock, I have no idea what the fuck was in that chem you gave me, but you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

"Wait, shit, you don't remember?"

Angel stares back, blank. "No."

Hancock fidgets uncharacteristically. "We, uh, we kissed some. And if you want me to fuck off with that, that's cool. But, shit, what was I saying?"

“Well, I wouldn’t mind if you did it again, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Hancock stammers out something about “get to the point” and “fucker” before closing the gap and kissing Angel.

It’s a brief little thing, but the way Angel groans into it makes Hancock ball his hands into fists and shiver as he pulls away.

“You like that, huh?” he teases, voice coarse.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“No accountin’ for taste.” He closes his eyes for a second and breathes deep. “Listen, when you and me get outta here, I can show you a real nice time, okay? If you’re still interested.”

Angel beams. “Fuck yeah. I wanna be sober for this one, though.”

Hancock laughs, spinning around to pick through an old toolbox. “What, you think you’re gonna get whiskey dick or somethin’?”

“No,” says Angel, voice low as he tries to cake on the charm. He steps forward into the back end of Hancock’s personal space. “I wanna remember it is all.”

Angel hears the soft click of Hancock’s throat as he swallows. “Alright.”

* * *

When it happens, it is certainly something to remember. It takes four days to make it back to Sanctuary; Angel insists on stopping at all the settlements along the way to make sure everything is alright, and it happens that Abarnathy Farms are fending off ferals when they roll in.

On their first night camping out, Angel sets up a strict “no fucking outside” policy. “Listen,” he says, “You’re great, and under any other circumstances I would probably already be naked, but I have a vested interest in not getting dirt up my ass. We are doing this on a bed.”

Hancock grumbles, giving Angel a kiss full of teeth and frustration before pulling away.

Later, Angel throws him a glance, as they’re sitting waiting for the embers of their campfire to die out.

“Never would’ve thought you to be the pining type.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. Figured the strapping mayor of Goodneighbor would be… I dunno. More forward?”

“What, that a request?”

Angel chuckles. “Not necessarily. No need to do anything you don’t wanna. You just always surprise me, Hancock.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing.”

“It is.”

It is late evening when they arrive back at Sanctuary. Angel catches Hancock by the shoulder as they cross the bridge, instructing him to drop his things off and meet him in his bedroom.

As he pins a ratty sheet over his window, Angel is grateful that he took the time to patch up the walls and give himself a door.

By the time Hancock shows up, Angel has already pinned and re-pinned the sheet over his window four times. He feels his stomach twist into fluttery knots.

Hancock strides in without knocking and Angel jumps.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Sorry to startle.” Hancock says, uncharacteristically gentle. Angel sighs.

“’S alright.”

“What, you nervous?” grins Hancock, striding up into Angel’s personal space and taking off his hat.

“Nervous isn’t the word.”

“Then what?”

“Just... nevermind. Come on. You gonna show me that good time or you gonna keep running your mouth?”

Hancock chuckles, setting his hat aside and moving to unbutton his coat. “Bossy, huh? C’mon.”

Before he knows what’s happening, Angel is up against the wall and groaning at a knee between his thighs. He’s there for a while, he thinks, but he’s not sure; it’s hard to keep track of time like this, as Hancock tries his damndest to destroy him before he’s even gotten to bed. It feels like there are hands _everywhere_, all over him, and he's drowning in the feeling of it.

“Fuck,” breathes Angel as Hancock sinks to his knees.

“I take requests, Sugar.”

“Anything you want, god, fuck, just do _something_,”

Hancock grins wickedly. “Really? Anything?”

_You could probably punch me in the face right now and I’d be happy to be touched_, thinks Angel. “Within reason.”

Hancock beams and nudges Angel's legs apart with his shoulder. "You're _fun_."

* * *

They build the teleporter at the Starlight Drive-In. The first time Tinker Tom fires it up, Hancock and Deacon are both there, standing at opposite sides of the platform, eyeing each-other. Each of them distrusts the other. Each of them is deeply worried about the mission Angel is about to undertake. The tension in the air is so palpable that Angel feels he might choke on it.

Hancock steals a kiss before Angel steps on the platform. “You come back in one piece, you hear me?” he says, but there is no intimidation in it. It’s a plea.

“I will. Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> **{** i'm going spelunking in my fics folder and posting some stuff that, while i like it, and i will fuss with it, i probably won't end up finishing. i'm sorry! **}**  
this is my big dipshit punch boy, angel. i love him. he's stupid.  
title is from "acid rain" by robert delong, which feels queasy and trippy and makes me think of these two dinguses.  
i'm on [twitter](http://twitter.com/ceruleanspruce)! come say hi! i love you!


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